


To the Ends of the Earth

by Cornelius_Podmore



Series: There and Back Again [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Part Two for There and Back Again, same tags, takes place in Desolation of Smaug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 21:41:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10817307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornelius_Podmore/pseuds/Cornelius_Podmore
Summary: Part Two for my story There and Back Again





	1. Chapter 1

Thorin woke because the tree that he was laying under was failing to stop the sun from shining in his eyes. He moved his arm to shield himself from the light, but a small, firm hand grabbed his and stopped him. 

“Don’t move.” Her voice ordered, and it seemed absent, as if she were concentrating intensely on something. 

A cloud overtook the sun and his surroundings began to come into view. They were in a thick but cheery wood, with birds chirping and playing in the trees and a small river bubbling happily to his right. It must have been midday. His brow furrowed.

“What happened?” Thorin asked, working up the energy to lift his head. 

“You fainted.” Evaine said, “Last night. The bleeding must have been worse than we’d thought.” 

He grunted and rose up on his elbows, gritting his teeth against a groan as the muscles in his chest twitched and flexed. He was lying on a boulder beside the stream, atop a soft quilt; he recognized it as Evaine’s. 

All of his clothes had been removed except for his rough trousers, and he could finally see where the warg had attacked him. Every tooth seemed to have left its mark, in a perfect semicircle of wounds across his bicep and chest, and apart from the torn flesh, the whole of it was nastily bruised. 

“I don’t remember . . .” He dug around in his brain and then let out a breath. “Much of anything apparently.” He laid back down, closing his eyes. “The bluff, I remember facing Azog.” 

“You lost.” She interjected. He shot her a look. 

“And then I remember waking in the sun, after the fight.” 

“Yes.” She affirmed. “As I recall it, you woke, yelled at the hobbit again, gave a half-decent apology to both of us, named me king, and then blacked out again very shortly after that.” 

He gave a half smile, watching her while she worked to clean his wound, packing them with some kind of oozy green paste, and spoke softly. 

“On the bluff.” He said. “Tell me what happened.” 

She glanced at him. “The white warg is dead.”

Thorin looked at her, mildly alarmed. “Who . . ?” 

“Me.” 

He looked up at the trees, eyes wide. “I remember you . . . you . . .” 

“Gallantly came to your defense? Yes, I did.” Evaine said. “Granted, Bilbo made it to you before I did but I was also trying to save Kili’s life, so . . .” 

He shook his head. “You . . . changed. On the bluff. I tried to stop you and you looked back at me and you . . . were not yourself.” 

Evaine looked at him, and then pursed her lips and looked back to his wounds. Something told him she’d been worrying about this as well. He decided to change the subject. 

“What is this green stuff?” 

“It’s an elven remedy. Luckily, the herbs grow wild around here.” She said. “It will draw out infection and encourage the wounds to close.” 

He watched her dip her hands in the small bowl and place it on another of the wounds, just north of his hipbone. 

He smirked, “So, honorable healer, was it you that undressed me?” 

Her eyebrows shot up at the forward comment. After all, a playful Thorin Oakenshield was something that, a few days ago, she’d have believed did not exist. 

“Dwalin did.” Evaine said, with a half smile, “Though he made the passing comment that I would be better at it than he.” 

“Much better.” Thorin agreed, his eyes traveling the length of her body before reaching her face. 

Oh. She thought. There truly was no middle ground with him, was there? He was either ignoring her presence or fixing her with a gaze so heated and intense she felt herself blush. 

“Well, there’s always next time.” She remarked wryly, placing her hand flat on his chest and coaxing him to lay back down. Even though he was swollen and bruised, the muscles were deliciously taut beneath her palm. 

“You like what you see-” He began smugly, but something caught his eye and he nearly rolled off of the rock in surprise. “What—what happened to your hair?!” He choked out, looking at the side of her head, and then looking again. 

“It’s not shaved.” She said, laughing. 

He took a closer look and realized that the side of her head was not shaved bald, as he’d thought, but braided to seem that way. 

His jaw tightened. “And how came you by this?” 

“Dwalin said before that his hair and markings were that of a warrior, and must be earned by one. After the cliff and the goblins, I suppose he decided I’d earned it—though we did agree his look wasn’t exactly my style.” She smirked. 

“And it was Dwalin that put these braids in?” Thorin asked, leaning up to look at them. 

She put her hand on his chest and pushed him back down. “Is that a problem?” 

“Evaine, you should know well enough the . . . implications of allowing another dwarf to braid your hair.” He scolded. 

“I would watch, Master Thorin, you sound almost jealous.” She shot him a look, letting her fingers probe his abdomen, “It’s not a courtship braid, nor will it interfere with a courtship braid. Should I ever get one.” 

He met her eyes and pursed his lips, and then looked at the braid. In truth it was beautiful on her, and, indeed, lacking the appropriate beading of a courtship braid.

“I suppose it suits you.” He said quietly. 

She didn’t reply, simply fixed him with an easy smile, one he’d never seen before. 

She strolled a ways away, where a small fire was heating a kettle of water and retrieved a rag from the steamy pot. That was when Thorin noticed something else different about her: her apparel. 

“You’ve stolen my coat,” He said, eyeing the fur cloak that nearly encompassed her thin form, “And my sword.” He gestured to the worn sheath strapped to her hip, holding the dwarven blade he had used before finding his new one in the troll horde. 

“You are bleeding all over my favorite blanket.” She remarked logically, “It seemed a fair trade.” 

“They suit you as well.” He studied her, putting his left arm behind his head to showcase his impressive biceps as she made her way back over with the hot rag. In fact, he quite liked the sight of her in the fine leather and fur. And with this thought he found himself making a request. “Kiss me.” 

He knew what a sudden remark it was, too sudden. But he’d been denying himself for far too long not to ask. 

The words caught her off guard, even more so was the way that he said them, with an almost frightening earnest. 

“I’m sterilizing your wounds, Thorin.” She laughed, but she found herself saying it gently. “It’s a time-sensitive matter.” 

“I could very well be dying you know.” He mused, “Would you not honor a dwarf’s dying wish?” 

“How about I just focus on not letting you die?” She said with a small smile.

She ran the cloth tentatively over his injured arm, which held nothing more than a nasty bruise and a few scrapes and cuts, but she wanted to be sure. When that was clean she dipped the cloth in the hot water again and ran it across his chest, snaking around the places where the warg’s teeth had punctured the skin. 

Something about what she was doing felt deeply intimate, and she stole a glance at his face to gauge his reaction, but his mind was troubled by something else. She felt him drawing away from her, receding back behind the walls that he built around himself. He allowed his eyes to fall elsewhere, his expression darkening to the brooding, guarded face of the Thorin Oakenshield that had held a sword to her throat. 

Finally, Evaine laid the wash cloth on his chest and moved around the boulder to a place where she could press her lips gently to his, her hand moving over the right side of his face and curling around his jaw. He was rich and heady and surprisingly heated. She felt his walls crumble down as the kiss deepened, and it took all her strength to pull away. Still, her radiant green eyes met his. 

“Will that hold you over, your majesty?” She asked jokingly, in truth a bit light headed. 

“You are the king still yet, Evaine, and no it will not.” He leaned up to catch her lips again, but she backed away. 

“Too bad.” She murmured, retrieving another hot rag and pressing it to his skin, making him hiss. 

“It will be a miracle, elf, if you do not drive my sanity from me before this quest is finished.” 

“And the same to you, dwarf.” She said cordially, with a bow.


	2. Chapter 2

                  “This is nonsense, Evaine!” Thorin yelled, furious. It had hardly been 36 hours since she had cleansed his wounds, and already she was driving him mad. She would not let him _do_ anything. _This_ could bust his stitches. . . _that_ could further damage his ribs . . . He was apparently good for nothing.

 

                  “I thought you surrendered all authority to me?” She asked, hardly bothered by his harsh tone. They were still by the river, Thorin pacing restlessly around the boulder he’d been lying on, and Evaine sitting upon a smaller rock, with her bare feet in the water.

 

                  “Until I was _healed_. Which I am.” He said, trying to hide his painful grimace as he shrugged on his undershirt. The pain was still quite bad, the bindings not doing much to sooth his injuries, but the company needed for him to be back on his feet.

 

                  Evaine sighed and smiled ruefully at Dwalin. _So much for the peaceful and compliant Thorin Oakenshield._

                  Dwalin chuckled and crossed his arms, walking forward. “Lad, I’ve fought many a fight under you as my king, but if the lady commands it, I’ll pick you up and put you back on that rock myself.”

 

                  Thorin narrowed his eyes as Dwalin, betrayed. “Dwalin. As much as you are _amused_ by this-”

 

                  “Oh, and I am.” Dwalin said, giggling at his King’s expense.

 

                  “But you must see reason.” Thorin said. “We may have gotten a good start on Azog but he will not give up so easily. We need to milk this lead for all it’s worth and _get moving_. Immediately.”

 

                  Evaine stuck the sword in the softened soil by the river and stood. “Thorin, I am well aware of the calculated risk I’m taking. As are Dwalin and the rest of the group. We all agree, you are no good to us dead.”

 

                  He rolled his eyes, “Nonsense. I’m fine.”

 

                  She rose an eyebrow. “Dwalin, hit him in the ribcage. That’s an order.”

 

                  Dwalin glanced at her, and then back to Thorin, as if he enjoyed being here for this little spat more than anything in the world.

 

                  “Alright, alright.” Thorin growled, “Perhaps I’m a bit sore. It’s to be expected.”

 

                  “Expected? Are you the healer?” Evaine asked. Thorin’s mouth tightened again. “Thought not.” She said.

 

                  He huffed. She moved past him and he grabbed her. “We _need_ to move.” He said softly, his thumb brushing her arm. “Please, Evaine.” She could feel his breath on her face.

 

                  “Are you . . . are you trying to _seduce_ me?” She said incredulously. Dwalin burst into laughter and she stepped out of Thorin’s reach. “Thorin Oakenshield.” She said, her voice thick with humor. “Do you think that just because we _kiss_ sometimes now that you can use that voice with me and I’ll just _melt in your arms?_ ”

 

                  Dwalin doubled over, howling with laughter. Thorin watched her in mounting fury.

 

                  “What’s all this?” Fili asked, coming to investigate the dispute.

 

                  “Is he drunk?” Kili asked, pointing at Dwalin, who just wheezed in response, hands on his knees.

 

                  “The King Under the Mountain fancies himself a seductress.” Evaine said, looking at Thorin, an affectionate smirk on her lips. He scowled back at her. Then, she looked to Fili and Kili. “Tell the others, today will be our last day of rest. We leave at first light tomorrow.”

 

                  Fili and Kili made off to tell the rest of the Company, and Dwalin followed, still giggling.

 

                  “Thank you.” Thorin said.

 

                  Her lips twitched, “So long as you know that seduction will not get you what you want with me.”  

                 

                  "So it had no effect, whatsoever?”

                 

                  She smirked at him, but didn’t reply.

 

                  Their last day of rest was one that she looked back on as a most memorable installation in her collection of favorite days. For the first time since she’d embarked on this journey with the company, there was no talk of the Mountain, the dragon, or the Pale Orc.

 

                  It was a completely clear sky, making the air crisp and refreshing and still quite warm. Evaine tied her hair back and shrugged off her jackets, as did the rest of them, and they played games and crossed swords and bet money on who could stick their dagger in the tree on the first shot (it was Fili, no one was surprised), and ate and drank and sang. For a moment, there was no imminent threat, no mission to be completed. For a moment, they were just people spending time together.

 

                  “Oh, c’mon Kili.” Evaine called down to him from the rock she was perched on, “I’ve seen mountain trolls move faster than that in the daytime.”

 

                  There was a roar of laughter, and Kili shot her a look as he puffed and struggled off the ground, where Dwalin had just put him with the hilt of his sword.

 

                  “Why don’t you come join us then?” Kili said, “And we shall see if the Elven princess bleeds just like everyone else.”

 

                  “Oh I would if I thought you could handle it, Master Kili.” She assured him. “Tell me, if you could not defeat me when I was roaring drunk, what makes you think you can do it now?”

 

                  Kili shook his head before calling her a coward and starting up his fight once again.

 

                  “This is nice, seeing them all without worry.” Evaine said, this time to Thorin, who’d come to stand beside her.

 

                  “It is almost as if the mountain was never lost.” He said, looking down at them, amused.

 

                  She glanced sideways at him, “You broke the rule.”

 

                  He rolled his eyes. “No talk of the mountain. Understood.” This time he looked at her, “You know, I’m not accustomed to having so many rules, particularly not from a warrior under my command.”

 

                  “I’m not a warrior. I’m the king.” She said, and he laughed, a genuine laugh. She watched it light up his face. 

  

                  “You’ve a beautiful smile, Thorin.” She said after a moment, facing the landscape once again. “I don’t know why you never used it before.”

 

                  “I never had you before.” He said quietly, in a sincere tone.

 

                  She shot him a radiant look before a shout below her caught her attention.

 

                  “Easy, Dwalin.” She called down, amused. “Kili’s a bit small, you’re liable to snap him right in half.”

 

                  “Hey!” Kili called, but she winked at him.

 

                  As soon as Dwalin had turned to shout a witty reply, Kili put him on his back, and all of the dwarves broke into laughter.

 

                  “Maybe not then.” She said to Dwalin, who was glaring at her.

 

                  Evaine chuckled and turned to make her way down and join the sparring herself, but she overheard Dwalin shouting at Kili.

 

                  “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy, Lad!” Dwalin said, “The Queen’s not allowed to play favorites!”

 

                  Evaine halted, mid-step, and turned to look at Thorin. If he were the type, he’d be trying in vain to conceal a smile. Instead he just surveyed her, eyes twinkling.

 

                  “Did you tell them to call me that?” She asked.

 

                  “Of course not.” He said innocently, “But you are courting a king. The title is implied.”

                 

                  “I didn’t think we were courting.” She said, and he frowned.

                 

                  “Why not?”

 

                  “Well . . . I didn't think I was the courting type.” She struggled with her words. “Courting is . . . walks in gardens and fancy dinners. We’re fighting for our lives. I mean, we only stopped _shouting_ at one another a few days ago.” She gave an incredulous chuckle. “It hardly seems ideal.”

                 

                  He just chuckled in response. “Evaine, given my stubbornness and your temper, I think shouting might just be a hallmark of our relationship.” He said, and then a little mockingly, “Should you decide that we have one, of course.”

 

                  She looked at him, incredulous. “A relationship is one thing, them calling me _Queen_ is another thing entirely.”

 

                  “I think you’d make a fairly decent Queen. With some brushing up.” Thorin said, as if it were a compliment.

                 

                  She stopped him cold. “Brushing up?”

 

                  He hesitated. “Well, running a kingdom is difficult. I was trained to do it when I was just a boy.”

 

                  She crossed her arms. “As was I.”

 

                  He leaned back and crossed his arms as well. “And as you pointed out, Princess, nearly all of your time in Thranduil’s kingdom was spent in open defiance of the king.”

 

                  “Yes and if you are not careful, Thorin Oakenshield, my time in Erebor will be spent just the same.” She said ominously, before turning and walking off into the woods, in the direction of the stream.

 

                  He chuckled before following her.

 

                  “You can’t openly defy me, Evaine. I think you like me too much.” He said, trudging after her. Then he smirked, “Besides, I won’t allow it.”

 

                  “Oh, you won’t allow it?” She turned and crossed her arms again. “So that’s how it’s going to be, then? I’ll learn to do my duties as a queen so I don’t embarrass you? Try to look pretty enough at the banquets when you trot me around like a show pony?” He started to talk but she cut him off. “I am well aware that I’d make a good queen, Thorin, and I’ve had just as much _brushing up_ as you or any girl dim-witted enough to marry you. The _point I was making_ is that you are, in fact, insinuating marriage. And children. A lifetime.”

                 

                  He just looked at her. “Yes. I am.” She watched him as his eyes seemed to soften and he opened his mouth to say something before he glanced behind her and stiffened. “Evaine get behind me.”

 

                  “What?” She looked to see the source of his alarm. Three great wargs had emerged from the dense forest, teeth bared, poised for attack. 


	3. Chapter 3

                  “When I say run, you _run_ , do you understand me?” Thorin said tensely, not taking his eyes off of the threat that loomed behind her, just across the stream. The three wargs stood, head lowered, and followed Throin's movements with their eyes. His hand went to the hilt of his sword, and they bared their teeth in response. 

 

                  “No, no. Hold on.” Evaine said, and his grip on his sword loosened uncertainly.

 

                  “Evaine . . . ?” Thorin said slowly as she moved away from him to face the wargs. She hushed him.

 

                  The wargs growled in warning as she stepped toward them. They looked at Evaine, eyes narrowed, and she realized that they were familiar.

 

                  “I recognize them.” She said suddenly.

 

                  “You recognize . . . the wargs? All of them?” He sounded as if he were questioning her sanity.

 

                  "From the Defiler’s pack.” She said, meeting the eyes of each of them, and then looking out into the dense forest and calling, “Fenris?”

 

                  The grey warg padded forward, from the trees, not even hesitant as she splashed through the stream and up to Evaine, nudging her affectionately. Evaine laughed in surprise, elated that the warg had found her. She hadn’t dared to hope that Fenris could track her after the eagles carried her away, but then, Fenris had found her before.

 

                  “That one’s yours . . .” Thorin said, “But . . . what of the others?”

 

                  Evaine looked up.

 

                  “I think it’s some kind of . . . pack.” Evaine looked at all of them, “With her as the leader.”

 

                  “Evaine I do not understand.” Thorin said, his tone verging on wary impatience.

 

                  She did not reply. Their faces were as distinctive to her as any human’s or dwarf’s or elf’s would have been. And they looked at her, now that Fenris had indicated that she was not a threat, almost expectantly. Still wary, as was their nature, but expectant.

 

                  The only one that worried her slightly was a warg in the back. A great hulking beast he was, almost as big as the great White Warg she had slain, and he truthfully looked twice as ominous, with a nasty scar slashed up the side of his face, blinding one of his eyes. He stood slightly away from the rest of them and had a particularly mean look about him. If she were to eliminate the wargs as threats, he would have to be her first priority.

 

                  However, she didn’t get to interact with him any before he growled and shifted his weight back onto his haunches. In one swift movement he could have leapt across the stream and torn her head from her shoulders. It didn’t take her long to see what had alarmed him.

 

                  Thorin had snuck off into the woods and told the company about the wargs, and now they were all standing behind her, weapons raised, awaiting Thorin’s command.

 

                  “Lower your blades.” Evaine ordered.

 

                  The other two wargs looked uneasy in the dwarves presence, shifting or perhaps snarling quietly, but it was nothing compared to the big warg, the one that was nearly twice the size of the others. If that one decided to attack, he’d kill at least half of the dwarves before any of them could stop him. And he was about to decide.

 

                  When the dwarves did not listen to her, she made the mistake of turning to face them, intending to command them more forcefully. But the second her eyes left the big warg, he lunged.

 

                  His intended target seemed to be Thorin because he was standing in front. But by some miracle, she managed to get to him first.

 

                  She jumped in front of Thorin and stood there, hands at her sides. His elven blade froze, mid-swing, to stop from cutting her clean in half, and he screamed at her, but she didn’t listen. The sword she’d stolen from Thorin was sheathed at her hip, and she made no move to grab it.

 

                  The warg stood a few inches taller than her on all fours, with a mouth large enough to swallow her whole. He lowered his head so that he was eye level with her, ears flattened. His lips were pulled back completely, thick saliva dripping from his snapping jaws, and a snarl ripped from his throat. She saw a few members of the company step back involuntarily.

 

                  Gandalf stood in the back, his sword raised, but he didn’t appear to have any intention to use it. Instead, he was watching Evaine curiously.

 

                  Evaine’s demeanor had completely changed somehow, in the few seconds between standing by the stream and lunging in front of Thorin. The one staring down the beast now was not wholly Evaine, but something else, something more like the creature that had beheaded the White Warg.

 

                  There was no fear in her expression as she looked at the warg, no doubt, no anger, not even the slightest apprehension, and as she looked into the eyes of the great beast his demeanor changed as well. At first he seemed to become even more aggressive, lowering further to the ground as if to strike at her.

 

                  “Evaine! This creature is not going to-”

 

                  “Shut up.” She didn’t take her eyes off the animal. “And _lower your weapons_.”

 

                  Thorin looked at her, jaws clenched in indecision before he relented and motioned for the others to do as she said. The company dropped their weapons to their sides, slowly and doubtfully.

 

                  Thorin looked at the great warg . . . and found more fear in its stance than aggression. But at what? At what it saw in Evaine’s eyes? Thorin wandered what it could be about Evaine that scared the great hound. Though, as he was standing right behind her, he got the eeriest feeling that it wasn’t truly _his_ Evaine that stood in front of him.

 

                  “I can help you.” Evaine said suddenly, but her voice was strange to him, far away. Thorin realized that she must have been speaking to the animal that was crouching in front of her. “You have no enemies here. But I won’t let you hurt them.”

 

                  The warg’s teeth unclenched, and his ears twitched uncertainly. He looked to Fenris, who was watching from the boulder that Thorin had lain on. She did not fear for her master.

 

                  Almost reluctantly, the massive creature rose.

 

                  “Take three steps back. Keep your weapons at your sides.” Evaine spoke to the dwarves, and her voice seemed to have returned. All listened except for Thorin, who refused to step any further away from her than he already was, and Dwalin, who still refused to lower his battle axes.

 

                  “Dwalin.” Evaine said.

 

                  “Pardon my saying, lassy, but I’ll not be lowering my weapon for any of those things.” Dwalin said stiffly.

 

                  “I thought I was your king.”

 

                  “My king would have killed a Gundabad warg the minute he saw its face.” Dwalin said.

 

                  “Alright,” Evaine said. “Then lower your weapons on order from your Queen.”

 

                  The dwarves all glanced at one another. Dwalin looked at Thorin. Thorin looked at Evaine.

 

                  “Lower them.” Thorin said.

 

                  “And just what exactly do you plan to do with them, m’lady? Providing they don’t eat you first.” Dwalin asked raising a bushy eyebrow and stowing his axes.

 

                  She glanced up at him. “Dwalin, I don’t fight like a lady, so I don’t expect to be addressed as such.” Dwalin’s lips twitched in spite of himself, and Thorin gave a rueful smile. There she was. There was the Evaine he knew.

 

                  “Very well, dear.” Dwalin said, “But you didn’t answer my question.”

 

                  “I’m going to free them of their proverbial chains and earn their respect.” She said, crossing the water without hesitation to investigate the other two hounds, who shifted in her presence but remained calm. “It all sounds very _queenly_ to me, but if the king should think I need a little . . _. brushing up_ , perhaps I will let them loose.”

 

                  Thorin rolled his eyes, but a smile battled its way onto his lips. She was mocking him. Had he not found such a difficult woman _so_ appealing . . .

 

                  “Alright, alright.” Thorin said, “Let her do as she pleases. Mahal knows she will anyway.”

 

                  The great warg crossed the stream to stand with the others, all of them still watching the dwarves in distrust.

 

                  “If you’re not going to help . .” She began, and most of the dwarves made their hasty escape.

 

                  “I’ll help.” Kili offered eagerly, strutting confidently toward them only to be suddenly halted at the sound of multiple growls.

 

                  Evaine giggled. “You’ll have to be easier than that, Kili.” She said, “Start with Fenris, she’s less likely to eat you.”

 

                  He looked uncertainly at the silver-grey warg, who was laying atop the boulder, surveying the scene with leisurely authority.

 

                  With the previous tension diffused, she turned to the huge warg, who was watching her with what looked more like annoyed curiosity.

 

                  “Alright, you.” She said softly, “Let’s get you out of these bonds.”

 

                  The warg snarled defensively, as if understanding her words and not liking them one bit, before he looked at Fenris and his ears reluctantly straightened. After this, it was the same deal as with Fenris. Evaine unclipped his saddle, which had been rubbing him raw along his spine and around his protruding hip bones. Then, she worked the harness around his snout, that was fitted with blades just like with Fenris. Needless to say, it took a lot of convincing—and Fenris coming to sit with them, eyeing the warg threateningly should he try to bite—to get the horrid thing completely off him. The huge beast closed his eyes in relief when they did, laying down in the soft grass as if exhausted from the pain and the effort. She grabbed the green poultice she was using on Thorin and sat down beside the creature, gingerly applying it.

 

                   “That was quite a stunt.” Came Thorin’s voice.

 

                   The warg’s eyes snapped open at his presence but he was far too exhausted to do anything about it.

 

                   Evaine looked up at him and then back to her work. “I trust that after what I did, Azog the Defiler will be seeking my head as much as yours. With a target like that on our backs, having a few more _pairs of teeth_ around may not be a bad idea.”  

 

                   Thorin sat down beside her. “You don’t like violence. You’re a warrior, but you don’t like bloodshed. You feel sorry for what’s done to them.”

 

                   She pursed her lips. “As a warrior, or a leader, sometimes hard decisions must be made. But . . .” She glanced at Thorin, who watched her. “I know a thing or two about needless cruelty. Man or beast, it’s never sat well with me.” Her lips quirked. “It’s not really the attitude of an impartial king, I know.”

 

                   “No, I think more people should share your view. Empathy seems hard enough to come by in peaceful times,” Thorin said, looking down at the warg. “You throw war into the mix, rebellion and anger, and sacrifice . . . it gets almost dangerously easy to ignore a plea for help.” He looked up at her, a trace of a smile on his lips. “You might make a good ruler yet, Evaine.”

 

                  The big warg lazily moved his head up to rest in her lap, and she placed her hand on it’s neck almost protectively.

 

                  “I’m only interim queen, you know.” She said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “No marriage. No children. I help you to the mountain, get your kingdom in order, then you marry someone else. Should you find a respectable, high-born dwarf lady willing to put up with you, of course.”

 

                  “And have to put up with you _and_ her buzzing in my ears?” He asked, “I’d rather just marry you and get it over with.”

 

                  She shook her head, though smiling. “Too bad.”

 

                  He chuckled, and then looked down at the warg lying peacefully in her lap.

 

                  “I wonder how you do it.” Thorin said softly, too quiet for Kili to hear. “Everything you touch comes to love you.”

 

                  His fingers, nearly twice as big as her own, traced along her palm.

 

                  She looked at him, eyes softening, before she managed to scoff. “Shut up.”

 

                  This made him laugh louder just as Kili caught her attention.

 

                  “I think Fenris likes me, what should I do now?” He asked.

 

                  “Approach them slowly. Look them in the eyes and talk in as soothing a voice as you can manage. I’ll be right there.” Evaine said. She suggested that Thorin find something else to do while she helped the wargs, and then got up to follow Kili across the stream as Thorin reluctantly made off through the trees.

 

                  “Do you think I could keep one?” Kili asked excitedly, his booming voice causing the wargs to flinch and growl.

 

                  “Hushed tones, Kili.” She said, though she was laughing. “And perhaps, if one chooses you.”

 

                  “Chooses me?”

 

                  “Well, yes. They yield to me because—well, I suppose I’ve got a gift for it . . .” She trailed off, “But Fenris _stayed_ because she wanted to. If one of them chooses to stay with you, you can keep it.”

 

                  “Thorin would not stand for it.” Kili shook his head, his smile falling.

 

                  “He let me keep Fenris.”

 

                  “Forgive me, interim Queen, but I don’t think I can . . . _influence_ Thorin the same way you can.” Kili said, a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

 

                  “Well, then, leave the influencing to me.” She said, smiling a devilish smile. “Gently now, take a seat beside this one and pet her.”

 

                  Kili followed suit, taking a seat beside a fair, almost bluish-silver colored warg who was visibly in her elder stages of life. Clouded blue eyes indicated that the creature was blind and had been trained to the point that her bladed muzzle had been removed years ago. Her late age had probably slowed her down quite a bit, explaining the lash marks on her behind and sides where the orcs had used a whip to try and speed her up. Her saddle was so worn and supple from years of use that it probably was not even hurting her anymore, but Evaine could see that the animal’s advanced age was not taking well to the heavy, constricting thing and she sought to remove it.  

                  Slowly and steadily the work was done. The other warg was in the prime of its life, though smaller than the one that’d lunged at Thorin. She and Kili worked with them until the sun was well behind the trees, making sure their wounds were treated with the poultice and that they were able to rest. Every once in a while Thorin would appear in the trees, obediently keeping his distance but checking up on her nonetheless. Kili became quieter and less restless with every whimper of the poor animals, learning how to act around them, how to soothe them. Every once in a while he would move his hand too fast and earn a snarl from the animal in return, but he was learning to correct himself.

 

                  “They’re beautiful creatures.” Kili said, looking at Fenris.

 

                  She looked more like a huge wolf now than a warg. Long, silky fur covered most of her old scars, and she had quite a bit more meat on her bones. Much more noble, now, than cruelly menacing.

 

                  “Most creatures are rather beautiful, when they’re not trying to kill you.” Evaine said.

 

                  He nodded, “I suppose that’s fair. Will you work with them as Queen, too?”

 

                  “Interim Queen.” Evaine corrected him.

 

                  “Oh, come on. It’d be great!” Kili said, “I’ll work with you and we can have like—like a royal cavalry, just of wargs!” She laughed, “Dwarves fighting for Thorin could ride them into battle!”

 

                  “Those are big plans.” She said.

 

                  “Just imagine it. _Evaine of the Mirkwood Forest, Elven Princess, Dwarvish Queen, the Lady Who Runs With Wolves._ ” He said theatrically.

 

                  She laughed, “ _Those_ are big plans. We don’t even know if I’ll be Queen. What if your uncle tires of me?”

 

                  “I don’t think that’s likely.” Kili said flatly, toying with one of the muzzles that had been discarded in the grass, “He looks at you like you’re the bloody sun.”

 

                  The thought made her smile, though she did her best to hide it.

 

                  “Evaine.” It was Gandalf’s voice, coming from his spot at the far side of the trees. “If I may speak to you for a moment . . .”

 

                  “Of course.” She said, frowning at his serious expression. Kili shot her a worrisome look but she patted his shoulder in reassurance before making her way over to Gandalf.

                 

                  “I thought we might take a walk.” The wizard said mildly. “It is a good day for one, I think.”

 

                  She looked at him seriously, “Gandalf, what is it?”

 

                  “There are lots of things, upon embarking on this trip, that I assumed were irrefutably true.” He hesitated, “I’ve been proven time and time again this assumption was a foolish one. And you . . .” He trailed off.

 

                  “What did you assume to be true about me?” She asked, not quite liking where this was going.

 

                  “That you were a dwarf.” He said.

 

                  She stopped walking and looked at him, and swallowed the lump of panic in her throat.

 

                  “And . . .” She said slowly, “You now believe that not to be true.” He did not look at her for a long time. “Gandalf.” She said impatiently, glancing around the woods before stepping toward him. “ _Maiar_ , Gandalf. What’s going on?”

 

                  “I’ve . . . pondered the thought for a while, and you must have, too. That you are not . . . well, you’re a woman of special talents.” Gandalf said.

 

                  “What, back there with the wargs?” She asked. “It’s just a manner of acting. Not making them nervous. Radaghast taught me, you know this.”

 

                  “Yes, I believe Radaghast has unknowingly been teaching you quite a few things.” Gandalf said.

 

                  “What does that _mean,_ Gandalf?” She said impatiently, “What’s he been teaching me?”

 

                  “Magic.” He said.

 

                  She stopped and looked at him warily. “You’re mad.”

 

                  “Not in the slightest.”

 

                  “I . . .” She shook her head, trying to wrap her head around what he was saying to her. “Only wizards can do magic. Sorcerers, like yourself.” Gandalf just looked at her. "Gandalf, you can’t _honestly_ be suggesting that I’m a . . . _a witch._ ”

                 

                  “No,” Gandalf said. “Both mother and father were dwarves, so you must obviously too be a dwarf,” He pulled out his pipe. “But the blood of dwarves is not the only thing that runs in your veins.”

 

                  She ran her hand through her hair.

 

                  “How . . . what do I do, Gandalf? How do I tell the Company? How do I tell Thorin?”

 

                  “Tell me what?” Thorin asked, emerging from the trees as they neared camp again. “Evaine, what is it?”

 

                  Evaine looked at Gandalf, and then back to Thorin. “Nothing serious. Nothing at all yet. How’s the company? Will they be ready to set out at dawn?”

 

                  He watched her for a moment longer. “Yes, I believe so. This day was good for them. They’ve been far from the Mountain for ages, but its great shadow still hangs over them. Sometimes it is nice to shed it.”

 

                  “Goodness me, is Thorin Oakenshield admitting he was wrong?” Gandalf asked incredulously. “Well, hang my hat and find me a good chair, Evaine, because I do believe the Mountain will come find _us_.”

 

                  Evaine laughed and led a scowling Thorin away before he could retort.

 

                  “What was all that?” He asked.

 

                  She waved her hand. “That? Gandalf believes he may recall something of my lineage.” It was not a total lie. “He’s very interested in me, always has been.” She smiled. “I’m something of a puzzle for him to solve.”

 

                  “That, you are for all of us.” He said dryly. 

                 

“How’re you healing?” She asked.

 

                  “Miraculously. No pain at all. You’ve worked wonders.” His attempt at flattery immediately roused her suspicion, and she crossed her arms in front of him.

 

                  “Let me see it, then.”

 

                  “Evaine, are you sure you don’t just wish to see me disrobed?” He rose an eyebrow.

 

                  “If it makes you more compliant, then sure.” She chuckled, undoing his belt buckle herself. His eyes darkened at the act but he looked away before she was sure she saw it. “Sit.” She put the belt over her shoulder.

 

                  He let out a sigh and sat on a fallen log, wedged between two trees so it sat a few feet from the ground. She stood between his legs and gently lifted his undershirt. He pointedly gave no reaction when her hands probed his abdomen. Surely, he thought he’d be used to it by now. He was not a boy, a woman’s touch was something he’d become very accustomed to over the years, and Evaine had checked his wounds like this many a time over the past few days. But every time he watched those pale, slender fingers slide across his skin he felt gooseflesh spread up his arms.

 

                  She glanced up. “Stop looking at me like that.”

 

                  “Like what?” He pulled himself from his thoughts.

 

                  “Like you’ve seen _me_ disrobed.” She said dryly.

 

                  He didn’t respond to that, merely met her eyes. “Kiss me again, Healer.”

 

                  Her hands stopped examining the wounds on his stomach, but lingered against the flesh. She glanced down at his lips and her eyes fluttered as she leaned in. If her touch gave him goosebumps, this was like lighting his whole world aflame. The last kiss had been awkward because she’d been sideways and leaning over a boulder, and he’d been trying not to die. This kiss was . . . as close to perfect as he ever thought anything could be. He’d finally gotten past the impassive face and the dwarvish armor that formed a fortress between her and the rest of the world. She was still made of wry smiles and sharp weapons and hard muscle wrapped around sturdy bone, but her lips were soft and plump against his, and her cheek was soft and flushed with heat. She was _so soft_. And yet within her he sensed also an incredible strength. An incredible power.

 

                  When she finally broke away for air she found herself straddling his lap, hands tangled in his hair. Conversely, one of his hands crawled up her thigh to hold her while the other curled around her neck. Both of them breathed heavily, sharing a gaze both amused and awestruck. Then, she glanced down.

 

                  “Did you . . . put me up here, or did I climb up myself?” She murmured. He could sense the amusement in her voice.

 

                  “I haven’t the faintest idea.” He said, looking over her face as if trying to burn this exact image in his mind, of her on top of him. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  
                  “Nor I, but I’d like to think I’ve got better self restraint than that, even when it comes to you.” She commented, her thumbs grazing over his face. And then she climbed back down and took a step away, readjusting herself. “And _you_ are still quite sore.”

                 

                  He rolled his eyes and pulled his tunic back down, “I’ve had worse injuries over the years that have healed perfectly fine with far less pampering.” He grabbed his belt from her shoulder.

 

                  “You did not have me to put up with before. Get used to it.” She snapped, and then walked him back to the creek, thankful to the darkness for hiding the troubled expression on her face as she pondered Gandalf’s words and what they could possibly mean.


	4. Chapter 4

                When Evaine and Thorin arrived back at the stream, Thorin grabbed the blanket and handed it to her.

 

                “Take it.” She said. “You’ll get chills tonight, you need it more than I.” 

 

                “I’m not a child, Evaine.” 

 

                “No, but you _did_ only recently get chewed on by a beast that could have torn you in half.” She said. “You’re losing more body heat than normal, therefore you’ll have trouble keeping warm, keep it.”

 

                “Why don’t we share it?” He suggested.

 

                He saw the flash of her teeth in the moonlight, and she spoke, “Absolutely not.”

 

                “Why?”

 

                “Because I meant it when I said seduction would get you nowhere.” She said, busying herself packing her things for the morning.

 

                “Well, then I’m not using the quilt.”

 

                He heard her hands clap her thighs in frustration as she stood and turned. “That would be stupid.”

 

                He didn’t reply, merely wandered far enough from the stream to where the ground would be dry, and laid down. Pretending to sleep, he listened to her movements. First, she was silent. Then, seeing him in the grass, she was hissing and huffing, and eventually sat down beside him, draping a corner of the blanket over her lap, and its majority over his body. Then, she took to staring out into the woods. He smiled in triumph before realizing she hadn’t laid down beside him.

 

                “What are you doing?” He asked finally.

 

                “Keeping watch.” She stared over the creek, her head turning slowly to pan across the small clearing and then over the dim light of the smoldering fire from the dwarves’ campsite.  

 

                He shook his head. “You should get some sleep.”

 

                “I don’t need much.” 

 

                “Still, if you’re leading the company tomorrow, you need to be well-rested.” He looked up at her. She said nothing, but her lips pursed. “Your wargs will alert us of anything lurking in the woods.”  He added, reasonably. She glanced at Fenris, who was indeed sitting atop her rock, watching like her master. 

 

                She still would not have given in if she hadn’t seen a small shiver rock his body. He went rigid as if to try and contain it but it only made his torn muscles wail, so it shook him anyway. 

 

                Cursing, she took off his coat.

 

                “I don’t need it.” He snapped, knowing that she saw him shake.

 

                “Good, I wasn’t giving it to you.” She said coolly, instead standing and spreading the coat on the hard ground, the fur providing some cushion. Then she pushed off her shoes and sat down on it. “Come here.”

 

                She could feel him watching her, curiously, as he moved onto the makeshift bed, laying on his good side.  She tossed the quilt over him and then crawled under it herself, facing him, and closed her eyes. 

 

                He smiled. “Are you to keep me warm, honorable healer?”

 

                “Apparently you are too stupid to do it yourself.” She said, though he thought he heard a smile in her voice. 

 

                “Well, then you are to do it right.” He said mischievously, grabbing her with gentle hands and pulling her close to him, her leg intertwined with his, face pressed to his neck.

 

                She mumbled something in Elvish and he recognized it as a rather foul-mouthed insult, but she did not pull away. As drowsiness encompassed the both of them, he felt her hand slide over his tunic onto his chest.

 

 

                He woke to the smell of her hair. He wondered how a woman could smell so good traipsing around the woods in his dirty old fur coat.  But she did. A sweet, comfortable scent, and one so distinctly _her_ that he sought to imprint it in his mind, to press it like a flower in a book.

 

                And then he looked down and caught her eyes, unusually bright, watching him, before they flickered shut again.

 

                “What are you staring at?” He asked, his voice taking a gentle note that she’d never quite heard before.

 

                “Nothing.” She remarked, her voice muffled against his tunic. He hummed, slowly rolling onto his back, and pulling her with him. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” She said, but her voice was mild. She was still half-asleep.

 

                They were still in the smallest hours of morning, where the sky was still the color of ink. It would be another half-hour, at least, until the Company began to stir. Her weight against him had woken the pain in his abdomen, but he ignored it. One of his arms was wrapped around her torso while the other hooked her knee and slid up her thigh.

 

                “Have I ever told you, Evaine, that you have _excellent_ legs.” He said quietly.

 

                “If you do not watch yourself, Thorin . . .” She warned. He hummed in response, growing mischievous as his hands roamed, up her thighs, down her back . . . he gripped the flesh of her hip playfully, and then his hand roamed over her buttock and was rewarded with a smack to his good shoulder. She raised up. “ _Really?_ ”

 

                He let out a laugh, tucking his arm behind his head instead and admiring her. Her hair was tossed and disorderly in a way that made her face look smaller, and the whole of her was softer around the edges with sleep. Dark lashes and pretty green eyes and full lips and freckles dotting her cheeks.

 

                “You are stunning, you know.” He said honestly.

 

                “Thank you. I’m quite aware.” She rolled away from him and collapsed back to the ground in a huff.

 

                “Come now. Don’t make me chase you, I’m injured.” He grunted in pain as he scooted toward her.

 

                She rolled over. “Alright, alright. Quite moving.” She growled 

 

                He laid facing her, nose to nose. He watched the expressions travel across her lovely features as something tumbled over and over in her head.

 

                “Are you going to tell me what Gandalf actually said to you, in the woods?” He asked. From the look on her face he suspected this was just what she was thinking about.

 

               She looked up at him, and then back down. “I told you what we talked about. You think I lied?” 

 

               “No.” He said, truthfully. “But I don’t think you told me everything.” 

 

               She shook her head. “It’s complicated.”

 

               “Is it ill news?” 

 

               She chewed her lip. “I’m not quite sure.”  

 

               Thorin brushed the hair from her face with his fingers, and she closed her eyes. Her own hand took his and held it, and she offered him a small smile. “You’ll be the first to know. Is that good enough?”

 

               “I suppose it will have to be.” He said, amused. She laid there for a moment longer before sighing and sitting up. “What are you doing?”

 

               She stretched and ruffled her hair. “There’s work to be done.”

 

               “It is practically still night, Evaine. Are you always this dedicated to work, or is it simply a desire to part with me?”

 

               She shot him a look. “I need to bathe. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m filthy. And best to do it before Kili can try to watch.”

 

               “He does _what?_ ” Thorin sat up and then gasped in pain. 

 

               Evaine came over and helped him off the ground, smiling. “He’s a child.”

 

               “Yes, and he will die one if he is not careful.” Thorin said menacingly, following her to where she sat on the large boulder by the river. “You don’t seem horribly upset by his actions.”

 

               “I agree they should be reprimanded, and they were.” She said, slipping her trousers down her legs. “As for being upset about it, well, I’m not very shy.” She said, kicking her bare legs for emphasis.

 

               Thorin’s eyes darkened as he surveyed her form. She unlaced her white shirt and pulled it over her head to reveal simple white undergarments. A bustier cupped and concealed her breasts before forming a partial bodice that covered her to the tips of her ribcage, and she wore panties of the same cotton cloth. Shivering lightly, she moved past him to shrug on his fur coat, pulling it tight around her. Her lips pursed against a smile when she caught him watching.

 

               “What was that we said about not seducing one another?” He narrowed his eyes.

 

               “I said your seduction would have no effect on me.” She said, going about her work. “I’m just cleaning up, how I affect you is entirely your problem.”

 

               He grunted, shaking his head. She drenched her clothes in the river and moved back to the rock, where she covered them in something blue-green and smelling of mint and citrus. She used a smaller rock to grind the herbs into the fabric, paying special attention to the shirt, since it was white, and then took them back to the stream to rinse. After that, she wrung the water from them and laid them out on the rock to dry in the sun, which was now just visible over the trees.

 

                “I should go rouse the company.” Thorin said finally.

 

                “Too bad, I was enjoying the audience.” She shot him a look, moving behind the boulder to shed the rest of her clothes and stepping into the river.

 

                “Yes, well, someone should go confirm the location of my nephew.” Thorin grumbled, making his way into the trees. “Before he get’s his neck wrung.”  


End file.
